


vita ante acta

by rosejelly



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, No Blood, ignoring all of Book 3's canon, the happy endings are where its at bro, tw: (kinda?) graphic death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosejelly/pseuds/rosejelly
Summary: “You are insufferable, Ava du Mortain.”It’s not the first time she’s heard those words. It’s not the first time she’s met her.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	vita ante acta

“You are insufferable, Ava du Mortain.” 

It’s not the first time she’s heard those words. It’s not the first time she’s met her. 

Iris comes to Ava in a different form every single time, so it is impossible to recognise her at first glance. The physical forms are so varied Ava can hardly remember them, just glimpses of freckled olive-gold skin, or tanned, smooth skin, creamy pale skin, almost comparable to hers, or skin as rich and dark as the night. She fully endowed at times, slender at others, or a mix of both. There were round grey eyes, lazy dark green eyes, soft brown eyes, twinkling onyx eyes. 

Sometimes she only recognises Iris much later, even when she’s been by her side her entire life. Sometimes she finds her by mistake, one accidental bump in a crowd of thousands. Sometimes she’s soft, quiet and gentle, and at other times she’s fiery, loud-mouthed and stubborn. 

No matter what her personality was or where she came from, she always says the same thing to her. 

“You’re _insufferable_ , Ava du Mortain.” 

She’s heard it thirty eight times exactly. Not that she’s keeping count.   
  


* * *

  
The first time Ava met Iris, she was still a human. She was Ava’s first handmaiden, with soft brown curls and a softer body, voluptuous and curved under her uniform. She was sent by Ava’s family, desperate to have someone try to tame her into a more ladylike figure, instead of spending all her time brawling in their backyard with wooden swords. It wasn’t like Ava had no suitors. In fact, knights and noblemen alike were exceedingly charmed by an “unconquerable” woman who could bring them to their knees. With her sharp, cold beauty to complement that, Ava brought them in by the hoards. 

Iris usually spent her time tossing aside boxes of useless jewelry, silk fans and luxurious dresses. Ava was interested in one gift and one gift only: chocolate. 

She’s lounged on the chaise in her underthings, fingers running through a tiny gold tray full of round, expertly crafted globes of chocolate. It must have cost a tiny fortune, probably enough to buy a small nation. 

Ava pops them into her mouth like they’re peanuts. 

Iris sighs heavily as she makes her way over to Ava, lifting a heavy gown, trying to show off the crystal embroidered sleeves as best as she can. 

“This is exquisite, my lady,” she croons, swishing it around, letting the crystals rattle. Ava turns her head away, but Iris moves till she’s within her eye line again. “You would look ravishing in it.” 

She glares, the infamous, icy du Mortain green rather dampened by the chocolate that’s smeared endearingly in the corner of her mouth. 

“You know I despise heavy embroidery,” she deflects. “They weigh me down terribly.” 

“And yet you trample around in your chainmail and armour,” Iris counters immediately, feeling satisfied when Ava blanches. “Are you too weak to hold up a dress like this?” 

“Yes,” she retorts airily, one leg perched on the edge of the chaise, the other swinging carelessly beneath her. She rests an elbow on her knee, reaching lazily for the quickly diminishing chocolate pyramid. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

Iris resists the urge to roll her eyes, carefully hanging up the gown before snatching a loose rag and marching her way over to Ava. Grasping her jaw firmly, she pulls her forward, roughly cleaning the chocolate off her mouth to release some of her frustration, ignoring her indignant squawks. 

She smacks Ava’s knee once she’s done, forcing her to drop both legs to the ground. 

“At least sit appropriately,” she scolds. Ava gazes upon Iris’s huffy self, and slowly, hesitantly, extends a globe of chocolate to her. 

She turns her back on the bribery, hands on her hips as she tries to figure out how to con Ava into a suitable gown before the party the next evening. Ava’s pushing thirty, and if she has yet to claim a suitor with this party, or even show up at all, it may well be Iris’ head on the table. Ava might pose as an intimidating figure, but her mother is a beast far worse than she, and she tolerates Ava’s boyish hobbies just a little less than she does incapable handmaidens. 

Iris does not want to face her wrath again. 

There’s a heat against her back, and strong, muscled arms circle around her, pressing her to Ava’s chest. She rests her chin on Iris’s shoulder.  
  
“You seem angrier than usual,” she murmurs. “I’ve upset you.” 

“Of course not,” she relents at Ava’s guilty tone, sinking back into her. Ava tightens her arms around her, and Iris’ thumb reaches up to rub gently against the line of muscle on Ava’s forearm. “I’m simply thinking, my lady.” 

“You _are_ angry.” She starts to pull away. “You’re not even using my name.”  
  
Iris turns around, catching a hint of shadow in her stark green eyes, her indifferent mask falling over her face like a shield. She drifts closer to her immediately, cradling a sharp jaw in her plump hand. 

“I am not,” she assures her, voice soft. Ava nuzzles into her hand, looking uncertain. “Ava.”  
  
The shadow in her eyes fades a little when Iris says her name. 

She leans forward, gaze heavy, clearly angling for a kiss. Iris is just about to let it happen, when her eyes fall on the laundry basket, and she remembers what she’s wiped Ava’s mouth with out of spite. 

Iris slaps her hand across Ava’s mouth so quickly that she yelps, the moment broken. She narrows her eyes down at Iris questioningly. 

“I have no desire to kiss a mouth that’s been dragged across a rag.” 

She tears her face away from the hand. 

_“You_ used it on me!” 

“I did.”  
  
She stares at Iris’s smug grin in disbelief. 

She gives Iris exactly one second to soak in her glory before she flips her world upside down, literally. Iris shrieks as she’s hoisted over her shoulder easily, her head spinning. When Ava dumps her onto the bed and crawls above her, her glare piercing, the thick muscles of her broad shoulders straining as she growls, Iris dissolves into helpless giggles. Ava is all bark and no bite. With her, anyway. 

“Stop laughing,” she orders, and it makes Iris laugh harder. “Or I’ll send you to work with Lord Celsaire for a week.” 

“Ooh,” she mocks, “That’s hardly a punishment. Lord Celsaire’s twin sons are _very_ becoming. Have you seen their new fencing uniforms?” 

Ava falters, unsure, and just as Iris predicted, she bares her teeth in a growl again.  
  
“I could crush them in a minute. Their footwork is a disaster.” 

“I don’t doubt you could,” she soothes, running a gentle hand down Ava’s chest. “You have yet to be bested in combat.”  
  
Ava grins at that, sharp and menacing as her ego is fluffed, and tries to claim another kiss. 

When Iris’ hand clamps over her mouth again, unyielding even as Ava smooshes her face into it, she finally gives up with a very un-Ava-like whine. She collapses grumpily on top of Iris, defeated. Iris can feel her frown against her shoulder. 

“Alright,” she mumbles. “You may have a kiss, in exchange for a favour.”  
  
“Name it.” Ava springs up so quickly that her blonde hair unravels slightly, falling into her eyes. Iris tucks the wavy strands back fondly. 

“Wear the gown tomorrow.”  
  
She visibly balks, staring at Iris beseechingly like she might change her mind. 

She doesn’t. 

“Fine,” she bites out. “It will remain on me the entire time I am in the presence of the guests.” Iris raises her brows, knowing it’s Ava-speak for “I will tear this monstrosity off me as soon as I can sneak away from the party”. But that’s all she can really expect from her. 

“Kiss. Now,” she commands, but her shoulders flinch a little as Iris glowers at her, crossing her arms. She clears her throat. “Please,” she corrects. 

“You’re _insufferable,_ Ava du Mortain,” she chides, but she still lifts her arms and lets Ava dive into them. She smiles against Iris’ lips, the tiny, happy one that’s secretly Iris’ favourite. She sighs into the kiss, tasting like bittersweet chocolate, melting into her. Iris wraps her legs around Ava’s waist, swallowing her pleased groans. She’s held so tightly that she can’t tell where she ends and where Ava begins. 

She melts into bliss. 

* * *

Ava vanishes from the face of the earth when she undergoes her transformation. 

It takes her a year to get her bearings and settle into her new self. She immediately sets out to look for Iris, now that she’s free from stupid human customs and stupid human needs. She’s wearing the clothes she wants to wear, living the life she wants to live, and now she just needs Iris back by her side. 

She almost tears the entire English countryside apart looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. 

Desperate, she returns to the little cottage that she’d bought for Iris, but it’s empty, devoid of life. Strangely, all her belongings and furniture are in place, just covered in a thick layer of dust. 

Ava goes out the back door, staring into a weedy, overgrown yard. She circles the cottage like a caged tiger, pacing around the empty rooms, each step growing more anxious than the last.  
  
When she finally drops down heavily on the steps leading to the unattended garden, she feels out of place. Alone. 

She tries to hold back the anguish ripping out of her, pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes fiercely like she can stop the onslaught of tears. Maybe Iris had given up on her, maybe she’s gone on to live another life with someone else. Maybe she was searching for Ava too, both of them wandering too far away from each other. Whatever it is, it tears Ava apart, and she won’t, she _can’t_ , move on without her. 

Unbeknownst to Ava, her obituary had been circulating since she disappeared, distributed by her family who was more than happy to be rid of a daughter who failed to fit into her role. Iris had taken one look at it, eyes transfixed by the grim, stoic painting of her love, and shattered. 

She’s closer than Ava thinks, just six feet beneath her in an unmarked grave, body curled up in the dirt. Ava grieves above Iris as she sleeps, her heart breaking, the other one broken and dead. Her hoarse voice cries out Iris’ name so pleadingly, so tormented and distressed, that it feels like Iris might wake up and come back to her, if she could only hear her voice.

* * *

  
Ava notices the pattern on the sixth try. 

She’s in the thick of a forest somewhere in Germany, striding quickly through as her human tour guide struggles to keep up with her. As athletic as her guide is, she’s still no match for a vampire’s speed. 

“Jeez, where’s the fire?” her guide grunts, German accent heavy on her tongue. “The ghouls are trapped in the castle for life, it’s not like they’re going anywhere.” 

“The quicker I finish the job, the better,” Ava replies curtly. She shoulders through a particularly thick bush, then pauses to hold it aside for her panting human guide. 

“Thanks!” The guide grins up at her, even as sweat beads on her bronzed skin. Ava just grunts in reply, jerking away to march forward, eyes locked firmly ahead. 

When their mission is finally complete (though delayed by Ava’s regrettably hasty decisions and a fee to the Agency for smashing a few of their castle doors), Ava sits with the guide outside of the castle, waiting for a debriefing message.  
  
The human (Ava has already forgotten her name, and she doesn’t care to ask) has expertly built a fire while they wait, knowing Ava’s sensitivity to the cold. They sit comfortably by the fire, and the darkness around them lets Ava rake her eyes over the guide, watching how her honey-brown eyes flicker in the bright flames. 

When those pretty eyes dart up to meet Ava’s, the human just smiles, wide and charming. 

“Am I the first human you’ve worked with?” she asks, shifting closer to Ava. Ava resists the urge to move away, her body tense for reasons beyond her. 

“No,” she says, then pauses. “Certainly one of the noisiest.” 

“You mean chatty and friendly?” She nudges against Ava, and her touch burns hot. 

“You may interpret my words however you’d like, if it makes you feel better.” 

The human scoffs, and Ava can feel her lips curving into a small smile. 

“You’re _insufferable,_ Ava du Mortain.” 

The tone of the words, the familiar way it’s spoken: fond and exasperated, crashes into her with the force of a steam train. The sudden recollection of the other times it’s been said, too many times, makes her breathless, the original still ringing in her head like a torturous bell. 

“Ava! _Ava!”_ She blinks back to reality as the guide shakes her, her eyes wide with worry. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” 

She sucks in a breath, mortified to find herself making a little whimper. The human presses a handkerchief to her cheeks, and Ava realises she’s crying, tears streaking down her face. 

“What’s your name?” Ava croaks, her words almost incomprehensible with how hoarse her voice is. 

The guide stares down at her in disbelief and exasperation. 

“I _knew_ you weren’t listening to me.” She laughs lightly anyway, unoffended. “I’m Iris.” 

Ava breaks.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the guide whispers, her warm hands rubbing down Ava’s shaking shoulders. “I’m here.” 

_Are you, really?_ Ava thinks, but she lets herself sink into the human’s embrace anyway. 

* * *

The next time Ava sees the guide _(Iris!)_ she gathers the courage to ask her out for coffee. That’s what humans do to bond, right? And it’s not like Ava’s really interested, she just wants to know if it’s _her_ Iris in there. If all those random humans who sparked a quiet light in her just happened to say the exact same words to her. 

Iris brings with her a stranger, a tall, but mousy-looking man, all corduroy pants and thick rimmed glasses. He smiles at Iris in a sickeningly doting way, and always has his hand on the small of her back. 

“Ava.” Iris grins up at Mark just as lovingly, missing Ava’s stunned expression. “I wanted you to meet my fiance, Mark!” 

The cafe feels like it’s closing in on Ava. 

When she doesn’t respond in time, Mark shifts uneasily, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Iris merely laughs, reaching over to squeeze Ava’s shoulder like they’re friends. 

“She’s a little rigid around new people. That’s just Ava being Ava. Isn’t that right?” Ava can only nod. “She’ll warm up to you soon enough!”  
  
Despite herself, Ava does. Mark is nauseatingly sweet and weak-willed, but he looks at his fiancee like she hung the moon in the sky. When Iris beams back at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, he flushes bright red and adjusts his glasses nervously. He’s so dopily happy that Ava can’t help the side of her lip that quirks up. 

“See! Ava’s finally smiling!” Iris crows delightedly, and Ava groans, rolling her eyes. 

She pays their bill though Mark protests, “You didn’t have anything!” It feels right, like paying penance for the dark, jealous thoughts that churn violently in her stomach.  
  
When she leaves, she can’t help but let the thoughts leak out of her. She makes it to the safety of her home before she can break anything. The Agency probably has enough bills to cover. 

* * *

  
The twelfth Iris is a mere brush, a flutter by her. Ava knows her briefly from working with her unit, but this one doesn’t seem to like or interact with her much, keeping her distance. Ava doesn’t even know her name, doesn’t know anything about her until they were stuck doing paperwork together in a tiny office, completely by chance. 

Ava remarks snidely on her sloppy paperwork, unable to keep her mouth shut when she sees this human file messily written reports from their mission, absolutely not kept in chronological order. It’s driving Ava slightly insane. 

The human lifts her head, a snarl on her thin lips. Her eye-bags seemed more pronounced under the harsh, fluorescent lighting of the office. 

“I’ve had three hours of sleep. Don’t you start,” she warns. Her fingers clench around her pen, twirling it irritably. “If your unit didn’t mess this up, we wouldn’t even be here.” 

“If humans were more competent, you would have finished the paperwork by now.” 

The human looks like she’s about to explode. She leans back into her chair, taking in a deep, calming breath. There’s a moment of silence before she looks at Ava, a wry, bemused smile stretching over her sharp features. 

“They were right about you.”  
  
“Mm.” Ava doesn’t bother to deign that with a reply, knowing her infamous personality is probably a topic of frivolous gossip in the Agency. The human gives a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head before she says, 

“You’re _insufferable_ , Ava du Mortain.” 

Ava’s pen snaps into half. The human eyes the ink spilling over Ava’s pale knuckles and muffles her chuckle, but offers her a tissue. When Ava doesn’t take it, the tissue box goes sailing into her face until she catches it reflexively, the thin paper box crumpling under her grip. 

The human signs her name on the last report and slams it shut, sliding it over to Ava. Ava just knows she has to redo all of it again, but her thoughts are far from that right now. 

When she leaves, Ava flips open the file with a not-trembling hand, and stares at the rushed signature at the bottom, deciphering the knot of blotchy black ink. 

_Iris Garcia,_ it says. 

The human transfers to a different sector, and Ava never sees her again. 

* * *

  
The first, and only person she confides this to is Nat. When she lets the words pour out of her, three hundred years of unresolved anguish right onto Nat, it suddenly feels silly, like she’s overreacting and reading too much into things. So what if a couple of people repeated the same phrase to her over the span of a few centuries? It isn’t like Ava is the most likeable person; maybe she really is insufferable. She might have heard it more frequently if she wasn’t so closed off, if more people weren’t intimidated by her. 

But Nat’s smile is impossibly warm and understanding, letting Ava bounce her theories off her like they’re not the most ridiculous, pathetic ramblings of someone who can’t let her past go. 

Then Nat says, “Have you heard of reincarnation?” 

She has, of course she has. It’s not a new idea, and it’s a concept that Ava knows well from the books she’s managed to read over the centuries. Somehow, even with the existence of supernatural and magic, the idea of reincarnation seems far-fetched. No one can prove it’s real, and if it were true, those who have reincarnated would never remember. 

For someone like Ava who has existed for such a long time, death is the one thing that seems too distant to comprehend. 

Perhaps it is something about the cosy, private room they’re in, or the open, gentle curve of Nat’s grin; but Ava starts to hope. Against all her usually immovable sense of logic and fact, there may well be some meaning to this hellish loop she’s stuck on. 

But she never knows when she’s going to meet her next. 

* * *

  
The twenty eighth Iris is secretly Ava’s favourite. 

It probably has to do with the fact that she has no idea who Ava really is. This Iris is a pink-cheeked, cheery little baker, who takes a personal insult to the fact that Ava comes into her bakery-slash-cafe to order _water._

Ava blames Nat, who insists upon taking a detour to this cafe every chance they get now that they’re on stake-out missions. Nat, though much younger than Ava, has somehow mastered the patience to taste and savour particular food without being overwhelmed by her senses. 

She’s grown obsessed with this cafe’s blend of deep, smoky earl grey, as well as their assortment of sickly sweet danishes. Nat beguiles the little baker with gushing compliments and eager questions. 

And well, if Ava is only there to sip water and watch the baker’s round cheeks flush like cherries, then so be it. 

However, Iris won’t leave her alone. 

“I have no interests in sweets,” Ava grunts, trying to angle herself far away from the chocolate crepe cake that Iris is waving under her nose to entice her. 

“This is made with eighty percent cocoa! It’s the opposite of sweet,” she cajoles. “Just one bite, Ava! Tell me if it's good.” 

Across them, Nat muffles her laughter with a large bite of her cinnamon apple danish. 

Ava wants to scowl at Nat, but she doesn’t want Iris to think she’s angry with her. 

“One bite,” she sighs, succumbing, though a little smile pulls reluctantly at the edge of her lips when Iris whoops, settling the plate firmly down in front of Ava. 

She crowds so close that Ava can smell the raspberry scent of her shampoo, the softness of her body pressed against Ava’s arm. She tries not to choke on the bite of cake, though she can feel the heat rising from the back of her neck, burning her ears. 

“Well?” Iris says anxiously, wriggling against her, and Ava swallows the bite reflexively. She didn’t even taste it. 

“It’s…” She clears her throat. “It’s good.”

“Liar,” Iris accuses. Ava blanches, gazing at Iris, but she’s pouting down at the cake like she’s disappointed in herself. 

“I don’t like cakes.” This is probably as close to apologising as she can get, and she knows it from the way Nat’s mouth drops open. 

Iris perks up and smiles at Ava, a wide, gap-toothed grin, and Ava’s heart gives a traitorous squeeze. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” She mercifully moves away from Ava, clearing her plate. “I can make you something else.” 

She scurries back into the kitchen, whistling cheerfully, no doubt planning Ava’s next poison. When she’s out of sight, Ava sinks her face into her hands, groaning. 

“Pity. You could have saved that slice for me.” Ava peeks through her fingers, growling at Nat’s faux-innocent grin, her lips curling up around her fork. 

Still, Ava returns to the cafe, and sometimes on her own, if only to exchange being mildly poisoned for a moment spent with Iris. 

They’re sitting in the closed cafe, thighs pressed together, side by side in the booth. Ava is just slightly more relaxed now that it’s just the two of them, though the latest strawberry-cream topped monstrosity that Iris calls a meringue stares back at her. 

Ava just manages to swallow the strawberry, but Iris moves the plate away from her before she can bravely take another bite, sighing. 

“It’s not that bad,” Ava tries, and Iris glares at her, crossing her plump arms over her apron. 

“Not that bad is bad for _me_ ,” she declares. 

“Sorry,” Ava says easily, now that they’re alone. Iris chuckles, and slips an arm into Ava’s, warm and gentle.  
  
“It’s not your fault. I just hoped that I can make something that everyone likes.” Ava cringes. 

“You can. I just...don’t like eating.”  
  
“Sweets?”  
  
“Anything at all.”  
  
Iris turns a curious eye to Ava, and Ava shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.  
  
“What are you, a ghost?” 

“Vampire, actually.”  
  
Iris bursts into laughter, leaning against Ava. Ava ignores the bubbling warmth spilling into her chest, warm and full, sweeter than any sugary strawberry meringue. 

“Show me your fangs, then,” Iris teases, and before Ava can stop her, she’s climbed onto Ava’s lap, her fingers prodding at Ava’s lips. 

“Stop!” Ava yelps as she goes down into the booth, unprepared to be attacked like this, large hands gently grasping Iris’ wrists, drowning in the scent of her raspberry shampoo. 

She’s much too close, and Ava can see every eyelash, every tiny freckle and blemish on her rosy skin. Her fingers playfully prod at Ava’s lips, and she’s hyper aware of the weight of her little baker on her lap, the heat of her body pressed flush against hers. 

“Your lips are so soft,” Iris marvels quietly, brushing the tip of her calloused thumb over it. Ava barely holds in a shiver, her breath leaving her in a gush. By sheer, dumb reaction, Ava presses a kiss against her thumb, her warm breath ghosting over her skin. 

Iris’ reaction is almost instantaneous; her already-ruddy cheeks burst into colour; her entire face looks like she swallowed a hot pepper. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t pull away or protest, she leaves her fingers exactly where they are.  
  
It makes Ava bold. She leans up, close enough for their foreheads to touch, and Iris’ eyes immediately dart down to her lips. All Ava can hear is the rapid _thud-thud-thud_ of Iris’ heart, loud enough that she can barely hear anything else. 

Through all the incarnations, this is the closest Ava’s ever gotten. She can feel her heart singing, every inch of her body pulled towards Iris helplessly, like a moth drawn to the flame. 

Ava exhales shakily, and her warm breath caresses Iris’ lips. Iris makes a wet, hitched inhale, breath stuttering, and Ava can’t resist; she needs to kiss her right now—

But plump, shaking fingers press against her lips, stopping her, and Ava glances up.  
  
“M-Maybe,” Iris clears her throat, “we should go on a date, first.” 

Ava's face burns, then she gives a chagrined laugh, smoothing her hair back self-consciously. She lifts Iris’ hand in hers, ghosting a kiss across her knuckles.  
  
“Of course,” Ava murmurs. Her eyes are a soft, warm emerald, glowing in the weak light of the dimmed lamps, and Iris can’t look away. “Can we not have the date in the bakery? I don’t think I can stand the sight of another pastry.”  
  
Iris’s delighted laughter rings out in the empty cafe. “You’re _insufferable,_ Ava du Mortain.”  
  
Ava smiles. 

* * *

  
The bakery is on fire. 

Ava and Nat stand still and speechless, watching the flames rage, flickering and spitting into the streets. Ava can hardly hear the howl of the fire truck, though it makes Nat wince. Her wide eyes are fixed on the roaring flames, stretching up into the night sky, spilling smoke and soot everywhere. 

“Iris,” she chokes, and suddenly Nat is there, shoving her back. Ava hardly realised that she’d moved towards the burning building. 

“You can’t,” Nat warns, even though her voice is pained and helpless. “The Agency warned us not to interfere in human affairs.” 

“Nat.” Ava grits her teeth, and her hands slowly circle Nat’s forearms, squeezing down pleadingly. “I just found her. I can’t lose her again.”  
  
The “you’ll lose her eventually anyway” goes unsaid. Nat searches her friend’s face for a moment, before a steely, resolute expression takes over. She steps back, dropping her arms.  
  
“I’ll cover for you. You have five minutes.” 

Nat lets out a strangled yelp when Ava crushes her in a tight hug, before releasing her and disappearing into the fire. She stares at the hole Ava left in one of the wooden panelled walls, the pried out planks lying on the ground, smoking. 

It feels like a mistake. 

* * *

Ava squints through the black smoke. Strong as she is, the fire is raging on and her time is limited. She shuts her eyes and listens. 

The rapid thumping of Iris’ frightened heartbeat calls to her like a beacon. She hones in on it, crashing up the half-destroyed stairs to the little apartment above the bakery. 

Iris is huddled in the bathtub, her blanket around her, her cheeks wet with tears. The moment she sees Ava, her mouth drops open, and she flies into her arms with a relieved sob. 

“How, why?!” Ava shushes her, and tries her best not to crush Iris as hard as she wants to. She takes her by the hand instead. 

“We have to hurry,” she commands, tugging Iris forward. Her little human can’t see as well as she can in this smoke, so Ava leads the way. The first set of stairs has been completely destroyed, so Ava heads for the second, guiding the walking bundle of blankets to safety. 

Suddenly, there’s a hiss, and Iris draws back, snatching her hand away. Ava turns back to see Iris rubbing the back of her hand, where a red burn has started to form. A large piece of glowing ember had bounced off her skin, falling from the ceiling. 

The ceiling. 

Ava shoves Iris out of the way just in the time; the ceiling above them caves in, right on top of Ava. Iris screams, and her fear gives Ava just enough adrenaline to lift the collapsed beams, grunting and snarling with the effort. 

She looks up to see Iris’ petrified face. But she’s not afraid of the fire, or the collapsing roof. 

She’s staring right at Ava. 

Ava licks her lips self-consciously, and realises that her fangs are extended to their full length. Her sweater’s scorched off and smouldering, but the torn skin beneath it is starting to knit itself together. 

“Iris,” she says, “Come here.” She extends a bleeding, broken hand, and her fingers twitch as the bones crack and reform, healing. Iris flinches away.   
  
_“What are you?”_ she whimpers, and the words slap Ava right across the face. 

“I can explain later.” She extends her hand further, hopefully. 

Iris steps back, and Ava’s face crumples. 

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Ava tries her best to retract her fangs, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins won’t let her. “Trust me. Please, Iris.”  
  
Iris clutches her blankets around her, looking searchingly at Ava. It takes a moment, but she extends her hand out shakily, a teary smile on her face. 

“Okay,” she whispers. 

“Okay,” Ava repeats gratefully. “I-” 

The floor beneath Iris cracks, and Ava lunges forward to grab her hand. It’s only a brief moment of respite. 

The ceiling comes crashing down completely.   
  


Nat finds Ava a moment later, clutching onto a limp hand, half-buried beneath an enormous pile of smoking rubble. She covers her mouth with a trembling hand, watching Ava dig through the rubble relentlessly like a possessed woman, her right hand never releasing her little lover’s. 

The footsteps of the local police draw closer, and Nat knows she has to do something. 

She wraps her arms around Ava and forces her to her feet. The Agency has a car waiting for them around the corner, and she needs Ava to leave. 

The moment Iris’ hand slips out of Ava’s grip, Ava lets out a low, pained moan. Nat slings Ava’s arm over her shoulder, hurrying them both to the safety of the car. When the door shuts behind them, Nat dusts the soot off her blonde waves, lying her cheek against the side of Ava’s head. “I’m sorry, old friend,” Nat whispers, rubbing soothing circles into her back. She tries, and fails to swallow the lump in her throat as Ava makes a wretched sob. “I’m sorry.”  
  
If Ava spends the entire car ride clinging onto Nat, wailing brokenly into her shoulder, the agent driving doesn’t say a word. 

Nat wonders if Ava can even hear her at all. 

* * *

  
Detective Iris Lee is the thirty ninth Iris. Ava has maintained a good track record of avoiding them so far, but the Agency has made it near impossible this time. 

She thinks it’s safe to intimidate her, scare her off just enough that she lets the unit do as they like. After all, they don’t really need the detective to capture Murphy; they just need her jurisdiction. 

She never expected Iris to fight tooth-and-nail with her for every decision she makes. 

She’s probably broken double the amount of furniture she usually does; this Iris is stubborn, bull-headed, and the most foolish human she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. She runs headfirst into danger, challenges Ava for disregarding her people’s welfare at every turn, wrinkles her button nose up at her when she’s disappointed, like Ava’s that snot-faced little officer they call Douglas. 

Disagreeable, intolerable, bull-headed little detective. 

“Getting into a fit over the detective again?” Farah’s cheery voice eases the tension out of Ava’s shoulders ever so slightly. “She has a point, you know.”  
  
“And what point would that be?” Ava grits out. 

“We will catch the person responsible if we work together.” Farah shrugs. “This whole thing will go by much faster, and you’ll never have to see her again!”  
  
Ava feels her chest seize in a strange way. 

“Fine,” she bites out. “I’ll consider it.” 

She needs to escape this Iris as soon as possible. 

* * *

  
She does not escape detective Iris.  
  
Before she knows it, they've solved multiple cases together, and Iris has made her mark so firmly on her unit that she knows the separation will take its toll on all of them. The detective, obviously, has very clearly and knowingly caught onto Ava's moments of weaknesses with her, exploiting them at every turn. Ava can't tell if she hates it or is secretly relieved by it. 

“Ava!” Ava’s heart does a traitorous, happy little swoop when she hears Iris calling for her, before she grimaces at herself. She schools her expression into something more neutral, sliding her aviators on just in time. The little detective comes bouncing up to her, fighting her curls into a tight bun. 

“Tina’s off duty tonight, and everyone’s off to celebrate another case closed.” Iris sticks both hands into the pockets of her overcoat, looking more harried than usual. 

“I was wondering...if you’d like to have a quieter celebration.” 

Ava lifts her brow, and Iris’ cheeks deepened into a flush. But she doesn’t back down, her lips pressed into a firm, resolute line. 

“Just us.” She bounces in place nervously, and a wave of black curl escapes from her bun, bouncing along next to her cheek. 

Ava’s fingers twitch, resisting the urge to tuck that one errand curl back behind her ear. 

“You’re incredibly terrible at doing your own hair,” is all she says. Iris’ mouth drops open, and Ava almost smiles; before Iris whirls around, irritably tugging her hair out of the bun. 

“No was all you had to say,” she scowls, storming off. She looks like an angry, bouncing thundercloud, with her fluffy hair and loud oxfords clicking against the concrete. 

Ava wipes the dopey smile off her face and strides quickly after her. 

“I was just making a comment,” she remarks calmly, trying not to smirk as Iris speeds up, trying to out-walk her. Ava keeps up with her pace effortlessly, trailing next to her all the way to her little apartment. 

When Iris tries to slam the door in Ava’s face, Ava blocks it with her foot.  
  
“Why did you follow me?” Iris snarls, and it takes Ava every ounce of self-control not to kiss the snarl off of her face. 

“As I recall, you invited me.” The side of her lips quirk. “And your hair says it desperately needs my help.” 

Iris throws her hands up into the air and rolls her eyes, storming away. Ava slides into the apartment, smugly shutting the door behind her. 

They end up on the couch together, Iris perched sullenly between Ava’s legs, Ava wrestling the cloud of hair with a comb. She’s surprisingly gentle, long fingers carefully brushing back and scraping each hair into place, like Iris is made out of glass. She even patiently arranges all of Iris’ little baby hairs, taking her time, bobby pins clenched between her teeth. 

Despite her temper, Iris relaxes in Ava’s hold. She can’t help smiling when Ava proudly hands her the mirror. 

The bun is neat, elegantly pretty. A few soft curls frames her surprised face, showing off the soft roundness of her cheeks, highlighting her features.  
  
“Well?” Ava leans forward. “It’s good, isn’t it?” 

“Mm,” Iris begrudgingly concedes, leaning back into Ava, oblivious to the way Ava stiffens up. “I suppose.” 

She glances up from the mirror, and Ava is merely an inch away, frozen into place, her green eyes wide and compromised. 

“Iris,” she says, and Iris feels the warm exhale of her words ghosting over her cheek. Goosebumps erupt all along her arms, and she shivers under Ava’s intense gaze, pinning her into place. “I can’t seem to escape you, can I?” 

It feels like Ava is talking about something else entirely, her gaze lost and faraway. She’s never seen Ava so lost and vulnerable. She looks almost...afraid.

“You can.” Iris reaches up to caress Ava’s cheek with one hand. To Iris’ surprise, instead of running away, Ava leans into her touch with a sigh that feels centuries old, carrying the weight of a hundred lifetimes. “You can always out-walk me.”  
  
Ava snorts, her arms sliding around Iris’ middle, holding her.  
  
“You do have many faults,” Ava teases, “all of which I have to accept. Short legs, crazy hair...” 

“You’re an asshole,” Iris growls, and Ava snorts again, louder this time at the unexpected expletive. Iris wriggles around and punches her squarely in the shoulder. Ava clutches at it, pretending to reel.

“That only hurts slightly less than watching you attempting an updo.” 

She’s too caught up in Iris’ angry exclamation and her own comeback to notice when she’s up much too close. When her soft, round lips press up against Ava’s, Ava feels her breath stutter to a stop, feels the universe grind to a halt, feels her heart completely still. 

There is nothing in the room besides Iris in her arms, her weight and warmth on Ava’s lap, anchoring her to earth. When they part, Ava’s senses return to her one by one. First, the ticking of the clock in the corner of the room. Then, the soft flush of Iris’ cheeks, her doe-eyed, dazed brown eyes, and the way Iris bites her bottom lip hesitantly. 

“That should shut you up,” she mutters. “You’re _insufferable_ , Ava du Mortain.”

Ava breaks out into a breathless, relieved laugh, and tackles the detective for another kiss. 

The words don’t hurt anymore.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this took me a hot minute. 
> 
> comments/feedback are greatly appreciated. thank you for reading! :) 
> 
> find me on tumblr @rosejellyy :)


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